


By Any Other Name

by Jougetsu



Category: David Blaize - E. F. Benson
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Jewish Character, M/M, Original Character(s), Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: George Crabtree is more than "Nanny" or "Bags" or anything else he's been called.





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/gifts).



> Dear Lilliburlero, 
> 
> I liked your letter so much because I too came away from the canon utterly adoring Bags. I hope I was able to do him justice here. Have a lovely Yuletide!

1\. Of Judah 

George Crabtree, or “Bags” as he was affectionately known to his peers, never wished his mother to be different, you understand. To wish her different would be to want another mother altogether and that was an abject horror to George. So not once did he ever deny her lineage. In fact he learned to pronounce it quite early when he met other schoolboys because if he didn’t people thought he was ashamed. 

At his first day in Helmsworth when George was asked about his family by curious classmates his reply was simply “My father is an attorney and my mother is a Jewess.”

“Of the tribe of Judah,” he hastily added with as much lofty pride as he could. 

In spite of great men like Disraeli and Rothschild there was always someone ready to make an ugly remark. George reckoned it was better to hear it all at once than be surprised and hurt later by someone he had become chummy with. 

But Helmsworth was different than his primary school due to the presence of one David Blaize. For just as the chatter was starting to turn nasty Blaize piped up “Mary was a Jewess.” 

That shut up quite a lot more of them than George thought possible and he felt staggeringly stupid for not thinking of that retort before. Though in his heart of hearts he did concede that Blaize had such charisma that it had more power coming from him. 

A handful of sneers and insubordinate whispers lingered, but Blaize simply kept unpacking and shrugged, “I ought to know, my father is Archdeacon.” 

And that was nearly the end of that, much to George’s surprise. Between his own iron pride and Blaize’s artless dismissal the other boys burned out of teasing George for it by the end of first term. 

It was not for that reason alone that George adored Blaize, but it certainly was one of the reasons. There was rather a long list of reasons. And despite George being a diligent letter writer and diarist a clench in his gut kept him from ever committing them to paper. The tilt of Blaize’s head when he was thinking up some new thrilling scheme, the sound of Blaize’s good-hearted laughter when he heard a joke he loved, the intense roiling sensation when Blaize was focused on one and no one else, et cetera. The list was long and frequently annotated as time went on. 

He was rather certain the flame would burn itself out in time. 

2\. Nanny 

There is a well-documented propensity for people to invent hierarchies within peer groups and young adolescents are even more likely to latch onto this than anyone else. Not everyone was rechristened with a nickname in the hierarchy, but George had only been at Helmsworth a fortnight before he had been uncharitably been renamed ‘Nanny.’ 

Something or someone had gotten on George’s last nerve and he’d been a snit for two consecutive days. Naturally as he had begun to thaw and become comfortable again that one of the older boys deemed him “an ornery nanny goat!” 

George had never wanted more to throttle another boy in his life. Had he been the sort of lad to fly into temper he might have been expelled from Helmsworth that very afternoon. However the name simply had him grind his teeth which had the unfortunate effect of making his expression even more goaty in the eyes of his fellows. 

In time he learned to feign indifference to the name. 

Blaize seemed to see how the moniker wounded him and tried valiantly to keep calling him ‘Crabtree’ though he was hounded until he used the insulting name too. George forgave him everything simply for the attempt and that mental list received another entry.

3\. Bags 

If Aunt Hester hadn’t caught a bad summer cold then Mother wouldn’t have gone to nurse her. And if Mother hadn’t gone to nurse Aunt Hester she wouldn’t have become exhausted and caught her own bad summer cold. And if Mother hadn’t caught that bad summer cold then Aunt Lillian wouldn’t have been put in charge of getting George’s new school clothes. And if Aunt Lillian hadn’t been put in charge of George’s new school clothes he might have stayed Nanny Goat at Helmsworth forever. 

So perhaps it was for the best. 

Most of his things had been settled before mid-August. New books and articles of stationery had been duly purchased with Mother and Father, Uncle Samuel had even snuck in some pocket money for George to buy little things to amuse himself. His shirts, vests, and ties were all pressed and packed early. So really that left socks, shoes, and trousers by the time the torch had been passed to Aunt Lillian. 

“My boys were all like you,” Aunt Lillian brusquely told George when they went to the shop. “You’ll shoot up just like them. So we need to buy something that you will grow into.” 

George was skeptical. His cousins did not seem to have the same build as him. Indeed they did not even have builds like each other. Elijah was a mountain of a man who towered over everyone else in the family while Simon was of average height but quite stocky and then there was Jacob who was downright gangly.

Aunt Lillian rejected everything the shop girl brought around and demanded to see ever larger sizes. The final pair could only be described as ‘voluminous.’ The legs were unfashionably puffed out and the waistband absurdly small. The inseam did not even seem reasonable for the proportions suggested by the sheer amount of fabric. George was no expert on fashion, but it seemed to him that a pair of trousers shouldn’t look as though it had the mass of two pairs unflatteringly made into one. 

“Absolutely perfect,” declared Aunt Lillian. “We’ll take two of these and two of the size just below it. After all it may take George a little while to grow into his true height.” 

There was no use arguing with Aunt Lillian. That much George knew from experience. If George was a goat then his aunt was a mule in terms of sheer stubbornness. With any luck Mother and Father would see how ridiculous the trousers were and he’d have new ones by the half-term holidays. He did not relish looking the fool in front of his peers, but there was nothing to be done at this juncture. On the bright side if they got ripped he could probably persuade the matron to take them in a tad during the mending. 

On the second day of term the voluminous trousers made their appearance. 

At first his dorm mates were silent. 

Then Blaize doubled over laughing, though not unkindly. “Bags!” he managed to wheeze between fits. The others began laughing as well and Mullins, fat uncharitable Mullins whose trousers were always baggy on account of his natural build, laughed longest and meanest. Surprisingly, it all smarted less than George anticipated. Truth be told he’d rather be mocked over articles of clothing than over his maternal lineage or allegedly goat-like features. 

But it was worth suffering to half-holidays with baggy trousers simply for the result: he was never called ‘Nanny’ again for Blaize had rechristened him too firmly. 

Later he sometimes wondered if Blaize had done it on purpose to erase his old moniker. It went on the list with an asterisk. 

4\. George 

Marchester was a settled thing. George wasn’t up for a scholarship, but he didn’t need one and he was content to cheer on David. Naturally, he did feel some pangs of sadness when the Helmsworth class broke up. He’d been more happy there than not. All things considered he was more nervous about going home than starting at Marchester. 

Not that his home was lonely or cold or awful. Home was cozy and warm and while George had no siblings there was no end of merry cousins and neighbor children to keep company. His parents were lively people who often had friends and relatives over for tea and were equally likely to go out calling themselves. No, home was lovely. The chief problem was with George. 

George had grown. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to know it yet.

Like many children George had been in a hurry to grow up. Yet now that he was teetering on the precipice of adulthood, toes dipped into the waters of self-knowledge, he cringed at the notion of judgment. To be judged something he was not was a harrowing thought and to be judged correctly about his secrets seemed even worse. 

Father, smart, serious Father, was a keen judge of character. Yet he and George rarely had those heart-to-hearts one hears tell of in books. Father was too much an Englishman to tread easily in the muddy mess of raw emotion though his educated guesses were spot-on. Mother would understand it all even if George didn’t say a single word because Mother was like that. And Uncle Samuel! 

To ask to speak with Uncle Samuel would be an admission in and of itself. And George didn’t even know for certain if there was an admission to be made. If only he had unobservant aloof families like his classmates!

The first night home was a relief. No guests and Mother made all his favorites for dinner. They allowed George to lead the conversations about Helmsworth and Marchester, no speculation about his feelings. 

But after the meal, when father went to his study to finish some work, Mother and George were in the parlor. He regaled her with the tales of the end of term, end of Helmsworth, all the things that had happened between his last letter and coming home. Mother smiled and laughed in the right places and asked only gentle questions. 

Then during a lull, out of nowhere Mother said, “Did I ever tell you why you were named George?” 

A little drowsy George shook his head. It’d never really occurred to him that his name was anything other than a name. Everyone on Mother’s side had carefully chosen names laden with meaning, but George had always assumed he’d been named a solidly English name to appease Father’s family. 

“While we were waiting for you to be born we had ever so many lists,” Mother smiled at the memory. “Boy’s and girl’s names both since we couldn’t know who our baby would be. And after a fashion we narrowed it down some more.” 

George briefly tried to envision what a girl version of himself would’ve been like. Would she have been called Nanny Goat at her school? Would she have had feelings for a classmate all tangled up like yarn in her chest?

“And George was on top of the list?” he speculated.

“Not at all,” Mother shook her head. “At that point it was down to Matthew, Lucas, or David.” 

That was an unnerving revelation. 

“I can’t imagine being called David,” the words popped out before he could stop himself. 

“Indeed, it would be rather strange to have the same given name as your dear friend,” Mother said. “I cannot picture myself being bosom friends with another Ruth, it feels almost narcissistic. But when we looked at your face we realized you were not a Matthew nor a Lucas, least of all a David.” 

“Oh?” George had seen a photograph of himself as an infant and could well agree with the assessment. Though he couldn’t rightly say he looked much like a George either in that semi-gelatinous state babies exemplify. 

“For over a week we were stalled,” continued Mother. “There were a good many names on those pages of lists, but they all seemed stale and flat somehow. Other names had a nice ring, but there was something missing.

“At last your father asked me if I would consider the name ‘George’ even though it had been crossed off the list quite early on. And George, I will never forget what he said. Your father said, ‘He has the look of someone who has the strength to slay dragons, but it is the quiet secret strength that others misunderstand.’” 

George frowned, not an ugly disagreeable frown, but rather the pensive variety accompanied with a deeply furrowed brow. He did not think himself a dragon slayer. He was not strong or kind or brave by his own estimation. “I suppose Father guessed a bit off the mark.” 

“Did he?” Mother said. “I think you are a greater slayer of dragons than you know.” 

George thought he knew what Mother meant, but he was sleepy and worried what it meant if she knew that about him. On the other hand Mother was very philosophical and this was likely just general advice since he was getting older. 

George was not a bad name even if he was no knight. At least he had not been christened David, but oh to be a Jonathan! 

5\. Kindred

It turned out he didn’t have to ask to speak with Uncle Samuel. The next morning he stopped by the house to ask if his favorite nephew would like to spend the day together. The tiny fierce contrary part of George was tempted to say no, to say that he was not at all like Uncle Samuel and that Mother and Father did not know anything about him at all. Which was a blatant lie. Not going would only be punishment to himself as Uncle Samuel was his favorite uncle and they always had a good time together. 

“I suppose if you’re not busy it’s all right,” George gulped down the rest of his breakfast tea. 

“Never too busy for my favorite nephew,” Uncle Samuel chuckled. He didn’t ruffle George’s hair like he would’ve up to last year and George appreciated that he was being treated more grown-uppish. 

George ran upstairs to grab his jacket and when he returned Father was saying something low and solemn to Uncle Samuel who was nodding gravely in return. George’s gut twisted and he told himself it was not about him. 

The morning passed pleasantly. Shops were visited, errands were run, and snacks eaten. They stopped by the bank where Uncle Samuel worked and everyone commented on how tall George was now. Luncheon was a grand affair at a hotel restaurant that George had been brought to before, but it seemed so different now that he was older.

By half past three no dreaded advice had been dispensed and George felt that perhaps his family did not know after all. Which should’ve been a relief, but sat in his stomach like leaden disappointment. It weighed there until Uncle Samuel suggested they feed the ducks in the park. 

“I’m not five, Uncle Samuel,” George pulled a face. 

“Why should the ducks go hungry just because you’re older?” Uncle Samuel countered. “I’m much older than five myself and find no shame in it.” 

Of course none of it was about ducks for as soon as they sat on the benches by the pond Uncle Samuel quietly said, “I’m not going to say anything about it if you don’t want me to George.” 

“About what?” George asked peevishly. The words would be ugly and maybe if he heard them out loud it would be easier to squash the list. 

Uncle Samuel’s expression was mild. “About anything I suppose. About school. About your Blaize. About growing up. I’m not here to be an ogre or a cautionary tale.” 

‘Your Blaize’ did not sound ugly. It sounded beautiful and wrong. That made it throb even more.

“I’m not,” George bit his lip hard until it puffed up from the pain. “That’s to say…” 

Uncle Samuel nodded and let the silence unfold, wrapping up the moment in comfort and proffered kindness not accusation. The ducks were well fed in the interim. 

“I don’t know if I am or not,” George sighed at last. “But I don’t want to be pitied. And I don’t want it to hurt. And I wish I were like other people, but then I don’t because I’m not like most other people and I never will be. I don’t wish Father married someone else because I wouldn’t trade Mother or you or any of the family just not to be teased. And if this, this is part of me, then I can’t wish it away either and I wouldn’t want to.” 

“I can’t say what you are or not,” Uncle Samuel smiled, proud and bittersweet. “But you are strong. There are a lot of young people in your position who have hidden their identities because their own self-revulsion was too great to be overcome. You have always been a credit to your family and you always will be.”

George was tempted to ask if Uncle Samuel meant his heritage or his inversion, but quietly realized it didn’t matter because in George’s case (and Uncle Samuel’s) they were intertwined. A man couldn’t be separated from his heart or his deeds or his blood, it was a package deal so to speak. 

“Does it,” George’s tongue went clumsy as his thoughts and emotions started tripping over each other. “Does it get easier?” 

Uncle Samuel threw more bread crumbs to the ever greedy ducks and a goose on the far shore looked as though it was ready to partake in the feast. “How to put it? Being a young person learning one’s own heart is painful, excruciating even. Everything oh just everything is writ so large you think you’re going to burst. But to struggle is to be alive. The more you know yourself and others, the sweeter and lighter the struggle becomes. It is never easy, but it is easier if that helps.”

It could be vexing that Mother and Uncle Samuel shared the same philosophical bent, but they were sibling so it was to be expected. Weirdly enough George did feel some of the burden letting up, like a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

Then Uncle Samuel asked mischievously, “Is he handsome?” 

“Uncle!” George squeaked then laughed in blessed relief. “He is, but that’s not why, well you know. And he doesn’t, he isn’t, well I think he is a little bit that way but he’ll never act on it.” 

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” Uncle Samuel said. But of course one’s relations have to say that George reasoned. “Naturally looks aren’t everything. If that were the case Arnie would’ve moved out long ago after seeing my ugly face every morning.” 

Which was silly because Uncle Samuel was not bad looking though he was not conventionally handsome and the two of them were too besotted to ever leave each other. Aunt Hester often lamented that the ‘confirmed bachelor’ of the family had the best marriage. 

“You won’t tell Mother will you?” George finally plucked up the courage to break up the bread in his lap feed the ducks on his own instead of letting Uncle Samuel do all the work. He may not have been five, but it was true that was no reason for the ducks to go without. 

“Ruth won’t hear anything from me,” said Uncle Samuel. “And she won’t ask either. She remembers being young better than most people. Everyone has their secrets and young people need their privacy. But she and your father aren’t ashamed of you whether you’re like me or not.” 

“There are a lot worse people to be like,” George said. It was all a lot to digest and George knew he’d be replaying and poking at the conversation in his head from now until he arrived at Marchester. 

David still made his heart flip and ache and quiver. But in that moment all the sharp edges of it had started to fall off. There were heaps of people in the world in unrequited, dare he say it in his own mind, love and heaps of others who were inverts, too. Uncle Samuel was right that it hurt less when you knew you weren’t the only one. 

And when Mother and Father exchanged knowing looks over the dinner table it wasn't as bad as George feared. After all there was Marchester to look forward to and larks to be had. 

Not to mention dragons to slay. 

Because when all was said and done he was a George, George Crabtree.


End file.
